


Despair is How I Say I Love You

by n00dl3Gal



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dangan Ronpa Spoilers, Follows the official English release of the game, Gen, Hope's Peak, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Inspired by Fanfiction, Multi, Other, Suicidal Thoughts, Uses translation names/talents, implied rape threats, ultimate despair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 11:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11989308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n00dl3Gal/pseuds/n00dl3Gal
Summary: "Junko Enoshima could count on one hand the number of times she had cried in her life- genuinely, actually cried, not the crocodile tears she used to manipulate people or for the camera during photo shoots."Or: how the Mastermind reacted to the deaths and despair of the School Life of Mutual Killing.





	Despair is How I Say I Love You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [we're as close to love as we'll ever get (i want to be your marionette)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7568353) by [chemicalpixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemicalpixie/pseuds/chemicalpixie). 



> I'm still fairly new to the DR fandom, but I always wondered just how broken Junko's psyche really was. These are my ideas for how she'd react to the Killing Game unfolding, and her relationship with the rest of the 78th Class. 
> 
> I was inspired partially by chemicalpixie's series "glory and gore go hand in hand (that's why we're making headlines." It's a fascinating look at the 77th Class's despair, I highly recommend it. (I can only link one fic though, so this is "inspired" by the first fic in the series. The rest of the series can be viewed here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/513052 )
> 
> Thanks to MustardPig for proofreading.

Junko Enoshima could count on one hand the number of times she had cried in her life- genuinely, actually _cried,_ not the crocodile tears she used to manipulate people or for the camera during photo shoots.

The first was when she was mere hours old and she had realized how utterly _boring_ the world was. So predictable and meaningless. It was her first real taste of despair- the despair of living, of knowing how life would unfold.

She cried for the second time when she was cornered by a bulky man, whispering what he could do to a pretty girl like her. She managed to scramble away, but her heart beat faster than she thought was possible. Junko was scared for the first time, and the despair of fear was something she relished. It felt _real,_ it was something _new_ and _unprecedented_ and _so, so good._

Junko cried for the third time when her dear sister Mukuro ran off to join a band of mercenaries. She wept not out of concern for Mukuro- she knew her older sister would be fine, she figured that out immediately, given her prowess in combat and agility- but rather out of jealousy. She wanted to feel the despair of the battlefield, to be surrounded by death and suffering; maybe even enjoy the ultimate, bitter despair of _death- God,_ wouldn’t that just be wonderful? But instead she was stuck doing modeling jobs, forcing a smile and a personality.

The last time Junko Enoshima cried was when she began the second killing game and knew her classmates would die.

. . .

Headmaster Jin screamed all the louder when Junko turned off the voice modulator for Monokuma. “Hope has peaked,” she drawled, “and despair comes crashing down.” Not her best line, to be sure, but it did the trick. The headmaster struggled against the ropes, pleading with her by name, wondering if this was a mistake-

And then the doors to the rocket closed. And he went _flying._

When he crashed back to earth, Junko chuckled and gathered his bones. She wondered if Kyoko would admire the effort she went to to get such a despairing present.

. . .

Things were going mostly according to plan, boringly enough. The memory removal process had gone perfectly and none of the students suspected they knew one another. Sakura was willing to be the mole and feed Monokuma- and by extension, Junko- information on the group. The only flaw was Mukuro’s performance. She slipped out-of-character more than once and deviated from the script. Something might have to be done about her.

Junko turned to the controls for the trap door in the gymnasium and began to reprogram it.

. . .

The first one to go was the Ultimate Pop Sensation, Sayaka Maizono.

It’s not surprising, really. The girl was an idiot for thinking she could kill Leon, a professional athlete. Granted, it was mostly an accident- Leon didn’t _mean_ to stab her in the gut. But murder is still murder, and must be punished.

She readied the courtroom and prepared a batting cage.

(Makoto’s screams when he discovers her, though- Junko has _plans_ for him. Such despair-inducing plans.)

. . .

For once, Mukuro was following the script. Throw a fit and step on Monokuma. It’s most unfortunate that _Junko_ had decided to change the plot.

She felt the sharpest pang of despair to date, and buried beneath it, a speck of regret. She’s _killed_ her beloved sister, her dear, ugly, pathetic Mukuro Ikusaba. The other half of the Ultimate Despair (well, unless you count Izuru and the 77th class, but she cares little for their activities). It’s _heartbreaking_ and Junko was nearly overcome with despair.

And then she saw Mukuro’s face, her shocked expression, her eyes wide, the gasp of realization still painted on her lips as she dies. Knowing that _she_ felt the same level of despair Junko was at death is overwhelming. Unbearable.

It was all she could do to keep Monokuma running properly.

. . .

It’s almost pitiful, the way Leon pleaded for his life. Begging for forgiveness, pounding on unmoving doors. In fact, most people _would_ have considered it pitiful.

But Junko wasn’t most people.

She maneuvered Monokuma into hitting the gavel, beginning the execution. A chain flew out of a side door to grasp Leon’s neck. He was already screaming in terror, and he hadn’t even been chained to the post and hit by a single baseball yet.

 _Pathetic,_ Junko thought.

Predictably, everyone- save Leon- was forced into stunned silence, as bruises and blood appear over Leon’s body. Junko hadn’t accounted for him to hold out so long, but by the time all 1,000 balls have been shot, his corpse was limp against the chains.

And the _despair._ Oh, the despair on her former classmates’ faces. She could bathe in it, swim in it, _drown_ in it. It’s but a taste of what is to come, and she knew that this would be entirely worth it.

. . .

She had deduced that Chihiro would be an easy target, especially since the students were once again clueless to his real gender. Junko also had realized Mondo would likely end up a culprit- between his size and temper, eventually _something_ would push him over the horizon. Mondo hadn’t even doctored the crime scene to save himself; no, it was to _honor_ the secret Chihiro had trusted him with. What good were secrets to a corpse?

But for all her planning and analysis, she hadn’t been expecting _Byakuya_ of all people to tend to Chihiro’s body. Except… this was no process for burial or even mourning. He was acting far too suspiciously for that. The way he was assembling the scene… it resembled something one of her _other_ classmates might create.

It was a _setup._ Oh, how _interesting._

. . .

Kiyotaka, the _idiot,_ had voted for himself. Was that the moron’s “hope?” Believing in a confessed killer, trusting his “friend’s” innocence over factual evidence? _God,_ he was a fool.

But he was falling, sinking deeper into despair. It was plainly obvious, and Junko relished in it. The rest of the class had teared up some over Mondo’s past as well (save Byakuya and Jill, of course- oh, _Jill_ was now a factor. That could be _fun_ ), but once the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader was strapped to the motorcycle…

Ah, delicious despair. She applauded her idea to allude to _Little Black Sambo,_ it really gave the death an added layer of irony. With any luck, the other students would pick up on her subtle commentary. If not, what did it matter? Another student was dead, another well of despair had sprung.

(She watched Makoto very carefully. It was still too early, but she _would_ outsmart him.)

. . .

Of _course_ Junko knew about Alter Ego. She may have not kept any broadcasting cameras in the baths, but she was still fully aware of everything going on inside of the school. Still, it wouldn’t be a problem. Just an additional challenge to overcome, something to alleviate the boredom.

And on the subject of boring, the deaths kept being predictable. Kiyotaka may have stood a chance, had he not become so close to Mondo. Admittedly, _Hifumi_ being the killer was a bit surprising, but whatever. She had custom executions for everyone, even if most wouldn’t see any use.

Would it be fair to call Hifumi the blackened, though? True, it was him that dealt the fatal blow, but it was under Celeste’s orders. Ah, the Ultimate Gambler. Worthy of her title, Junko admitted. She, at least, was playing the game as intended, offing and framing her opponents. Junko wouldn’t say she had “high hopes” for her- why would she, when it involved _hope-_ but perhaps “high expectations” would be appropriate.

But then, Celeste killed Hifumi herself. And Hifumi, ever the dramatic, had seemingly damned Yasuhiro even more than the ridiculous Robo-Justice suit. Ah, would they make the right decision? Most likely. They still had Kyoko on their side. Not even wiping her talent from memory could remove the ability itself.

She prepared the stage for Taeko Yasuhiro. Even with all her skills as a gambler- and a liar- it is nothing in the face of Ultimate Luck.

. . .

“Perhaps we’ll meet again, in another life.” It figured that Taeko would attempt to go out with dignity. A sore loser did not match her elegant persona.

But it was still just a persona, and that was something Junko would not indulge her in. Burning at the stake was a fitting death for Celestia Ludenberg, true, but for plain, boring, ordinary _Taeko Yasuhiro?_ It simply wouldn’t do.

There would be no _despair_ in it.

And thus, a fire truck rammed into her flaming body, ending the witch hunt prematurely. Would her classmates- would the _world_ \- appreciate the irony? It was doubtful. They had yet to pick up on any of her commentary with the executions. How disappointing.

At least should could despair in her efforts going to waste, just as they despaired in the most despicable murder yet. Celeste really was a _monster,_ planning her murders like that.

 _Another life,_ though. The words rung around in Junko’s head. Only seven students remained- it was due time she considered her plan failing and her own, personal despair. She must get in contact with Izuru and Monaca, and quickly.

. . .

Technically, Sakura had fulfilled her duty as the mole by killing a student. Junko had only herself to blame for not making it more clear it should’ve been someone other than Sakura herself.

And the students upon discovering her- they all so desperately wanted to blame _themselves._ Even when they knew she was a traitor, a person willing to kill for her already destroyed dojo, they refused to believe it was a suicide. How could they be so blind? It was despairingly obvious, between the locked doors and her manner of death.

Still, she might as well have some fun with the whole charade. A fake suicide note would do wonders to make the trial more of a puzzle. She really was growing bored with the whole game. Maybe if she still had Mukuro to talk to… but it wasn’t as if Mukuro ever said anything _interesting_ , even while alive.

. . .

When the trial began, Junko snuck out of the control room and into the baths. She had to retrieve the special guest.

It didn’t take long, fortunately, as the students seemed intent on calling on Monokuma for clarification at every possible point. How despairingly annoying. They were really so daft, so _naive_ , to think that they had forced Sakura to suicide? They might as well have, Junko was beginning to seriously consider it. No, better to wait. She’d miss out on the despair, otherwise.

And this execution was particularly heartbreaking, or so she imagined. Seeing a link to a tragically killed friend, their supposed lifeline to the outside world… ah, the horror and grief on their faces would have to subside her for now.

She focused on two students in particular, however- Kyoko and Makoto. As bored of the plan as she was, they were making it interesting. _Unpredictable_. And with the students vowing to stop the killing game, Junko would have to use their unpredictability to her advantage.

Mukuro might actually be able to serve her a purpose, now. _How fitting._

. . .

She had intended to kill Kyoko. But Makoto and his stupid _hope,_ his disgusting _trust_ in others robbed her of her most interesting toy. Junko wanted nothing more than to throw a temper tantrum like a spoiled child, to end the game right there and massacre them all.

But she maintained her composure and sent Makoto on his way.

The irony of the execution would be mostly lost, sadly. Junko supposed it could be taken as “crushing the student’s hope,” but she _had_ an execution for Makoto planned. And now the world would never get to see it. Well, no use crying over it. She had lasers and stages and 8-bit Monokumas that were left unused, what was one barrel and a few swords?

The desk inched closer and closer to the pulverizer. Junko wondered idly if this would be Makoto’s only sex-ed lesson.

And then- it stopped. The shaking, the pounding stopped. And on the screen that was meant to display Monokuma was-

“How in the _hell_ did _that_ survive?” Junko screamed. “I destroyed your computer! I wiped you from the mainframe! How are you-”

Makoto fell, fell deep into the pile of trash, and Junko was left shaking with rage. It didn’t last long, however; she simply smoothed her skirt and grinned. Makoto would still die, rotting with the garbage. And even if he escaped- _as if, even with Ultimate Luck, he’d still succumb to thirst and hunger-_ well.

Junko Enoshima would have her despair, one way or the other.

. . .

So this is how it ends.

They chose _hope._ Junko Enoshima had filled the remaining students of Hope’s Peak Academy with absolute, undeniable _despair,_ and they still managed to choose hope. All because of Makoto Naegi.

“Why that’s just…” she growled, curling her fists… before letting her hands fly to her face, body quivering. “Simply the best!”

 _This_ was the despair she had been craving! The despair of failure, of defeat, of _death!_ She was finally going to die! Oh, she had dreamed of this moment, and to finally have it realized was more despair-inducing than anything she had ever felt in her life! She would join Mukuro and Yasuke in the bitter afterlife, if there was such a thing, she would finally _know-_

But then they interrupted her monologue, her gushing of despair and how _delightful_ it all was, to blather on about _hope_ and _peace_ and _friendship_ and _rebuilding the world_ and it caused her more despair, the wrong _kind_ of despair, Junko had _to do something-_

“Fine, let me just say one last thing... If you guys wanna get all hung up on the word ‘hope,’ that’s no skin off my nose… but just be warned…” she said, deliberately keeping her face blank. “From this point on, one despair after another will stand in your way. No matter where you run, no matter where you hide… maybe you’ll find some hope, but there is a very fine line dividing that hope from bitter despair.” She laughed, drool sliding down her chin, sweat dripping from her bangs. “Knowing that, you _still_ plan to cling to your hope?”

Makoto spoke then, but Junko didn’t hear it. “Shut up, shut up! That was a rhetorical question!” she screeched. “I’m almost done though, so, whatever… Because it’s almost punishment time, isn’t it?”

The remaining students stared at her, gasping, suggesting that- that she _live-_ that she not succumb to _despair-_ to give _hope a chance-_ “DON’T GET IN MY WAY!” She dashed to Monokuma’s throne, flipping the lid over the button.

“Puhuhu… puhuhuhu! So this is how the despair of death feels… ahh, it’s so wonderful!” It really _was,_ nothing had made her feel so _good,_ not the act of killing her boyfriend, or her sister, or _watching the entire world fall at the knees because of her-_ “Even a tenth of this despair, even a hundredth…” Junko’s body shook, knowing the _agony_ she was about to suffer. She rambled, wishing for the whole world to _feel the same despair_ as her, to _die and live full of despair, despair was everything, despair was all that mattered, despair was Junko Enoshima-_

“Let’s give it everything we’ve got. It’s… PUNISHMENT TIME! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

And as her laughter echoed across the courtroom, she slammed her fist on the button.

All of the punishments, the batting cage, the burning castle, the rocket ship- all of them. She would go through them all, taste the same despair as her victims. Even if they didn’t individually kill her- she had lowered the lethality quite a bit, she wanted to despair through them _all,_ she would succumb. She would _perish_.

 _Junko Enoshima would die_.

It wasn’t the baseballs that did her in, nor the motorcycle. She yawned and meditated through the flames. The excavator was little more than a _back massage_. The rocket ship left some bruises, leaving only the crushing machine to do her in.

How fitting. What was meant to take out her greatest adversaries would instead be her demise. The irony was _despairing. Despair, despair, despair, she was going to die, Junko would die, THIS WAS THE ULTIMATE DESPAIR-_  
  
The conveyor belt froze beneath the block. Junko, still clutching Monokuma to her chest, looked up. She was supposed to be dead. Why wasn’t she dead _why wasn’t she-_


End file.
